fix me
by xIrelandx
Summary: When Apollo doesn't show up for work, Phoenix, concerned, goes to check on him. Trigger warning for depression and all that goes with it and causes it. Eventual Phoenix/Apollo. All titles from songs on the Marians Trench album Fix Me.
1. Low

**Hey all: I don't own Ace Attorney. If I did, my beautiful OTP would be together and happy and -**

***cough* okay. I'll put a trigger warning here too: as this fic is largely about depression, be aware of body image issues, reference to eating disorders, cutting, suicidal ideation...I think that's it for now.**

* * *

He got worried when Apollo didn't show up for work. He might not have known the kid for very long, but he knew this certainly wasn't in his behavior. Apollo was always checking in with him, whether he needed help with the case at hand or not. That was just the sort of person Apollo was, almost a perfectionist. He knew why. Apollo was young and the last thing he wanted was for some jerk like Payne or Klavier accusing him of being to immature for this job. Having his badge taken away, just like Phoenix had - it was Apollo's worst nightmare. So not showing up for work - that was very out of character behavior.

Of course, he had to keep up the appearance that he didn't care. He wanted to wait until Trucy had left for school, but that plan had been foiled by none other than Trucy herself. "He's late, Daddy. Doesn't that bother you?" He didn't say yes, but Trucy made him promise to find Polly - Apollo - as soon as she got on the bus for school.

Apollo left a spare key to his place at the office. It was 'just in case,' or so he said, but Phoenix wondered if he didn't get lonely sometimes. The part of the city he lived in wasn't the most active, and Apollo wasn't exactly the life of the party. Phoenix had always assumed that the key was a hint, an invitation to come and visit him.

…Or maybe he was just reading too much into this. Apollo had made this decision immediately following the conclusion of Phoenix's story about the one time he'd been mugged by a man in a chicken suit.

Back when he was a lawyer, entering someone else's home uninvited would have made Phoenix very uncomfortable. Breaking and entering was more Maya's territory. She'd insist that getting in was crucial to the case, because Gumshoe and Edgeworth sure as heck weren't going to want to share evidence. Any proof they wanted, they'd have to get themselves. But Phoenix wasn't a lawyer and there wasn't a case, not a real one anyway. No one was getting paid for the Case of the Missing Attorney. Phoenix stuck the spare key in, swallowed his slight anxiety at the click of the lock, and entered.

"Apollo?" There was no answer. All of the lights in the small, dingy apartment were turned off. The air felt heavy, like the air condition had been broken for weeks. It felt like that, too. Phoenix never knew it was possible for it to be humid indoors, but Apollo's apartment served as a MythBuster in the worst way. The apartment smelled kind of moldy too.

Phoenix stepped into the kitchen, looking for clues as to his employee's whereabouts. The sink was full of dirty dishes, the counter cluttered with post-it notes and grocery lists. A bunch of bananas sat in a bowl, turning brown. There was one in the bowl that laid half-eaten, like whoever had started it lost their appetite and meant to come back to it later, but never did. Phoenix picked it up by the stem and looked around for a trashcan. Crime scene or not, this place was pretty gross. Not completely filthy, but rather unpleasant. Given how tidy Apollo was at work… well, it was unexpected.

Phoenix took off his head and unzipped his jacket, folding the two over a chair at what he presumed was the kitchen table. Apollo's briefcase lay open on it, documents scattered everywhere. Phoenix attempted to find a pattern to put them into neat piles, looking along the table as he went for notes with names of clients or suspects. Still, he found nothing of import - just one scribble on the back of a receipt that read 'meds.' Phoenix shook his head. It didn't look like shorthand for anything. It wasn't any of his business.

"Apollo?" he called again. He was beginning to suspect that his protege was, in fact, in the apartment still.

There was a barely inaudible cough. If Phoenix hadn't been listening for it, it would have gone unnoticed.

The apartment was cramped. There wasn't a lot of furniture - a coffee table, a desk with a laptop resting on it, a couch, a television, a door to a bathroom and a door to a bedroom. The problem was in the size of the apartment itself. Phoenix had to suck his gut in to pass through the space between the couch and the wall. He stood outside of Apollo's bedroom door, left ajar, and wondered if he should bother knocking or not.

"Sorry 'm not at work today," Apollo mumbled. His back was turned to Phoenix, curled in the fetal position. "Meant to call in sick…kind of forgot."

"That's okay," Phoenix said softly. "Shit happens." He started to weave his way around the pile of clothes that littered the floor, but Apollo's voice stopped him again.

"Please," he begged. There was an odd lilt in his voice, the way people sounded when they were trying not to yawn as they spoke. Or cry. "Don't come any closer."

Phoenix snorted. "I live with a fifteen-year-old. If she hasn't gotten me sick yet, trust me, you won't." Ignoring Apollo's agitated sigh, Phoenix sat up against the younger's knees.

Apollo wasn't looking directly at him, but Phoenix could see his face pretty well all the same. His face wasn't drained of color, but his eyes were rimmed by dark circles. His face was etched in a semi-permanent frown, which was what bothered Phoenix the most. Usually, Apollo could pass for fifteen or sixteen. Today, he looked in his early thirties.

Apollo let out a compressed sigh through his nose, the air pushing his deflated bangs from his forehead. Phoenix brushed the bangs back, resting his hand on Apollo's head.

"What are you doing, Mr. Wright?"

"Taking your temperature."

"'M fine. There's nothing wrong with me. I'll just get up and get ready for work." But Apollo made no move to get ready. Phoenix took his hand away.

"If you were fine, you would have come in this morning, or at least called. You're not running a fever, but you're not fine either. When was the last time you ate?"

Apollo closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration. "Uhm… yesterday…morning?"

Phoenix sighed. "Did you put your clothes on before you gave up, or did you fall asleep in your suit last night?" Apollo looked down, confused. He didn't remember that he had a suit on.

"Oh," he said, brushing a hand down the front of his shirt. "I guess I - I must have…" he trailed off.

Phoenix sighed. "Alright, take your clothes off." It was truly a sign of worry that Apollo only glared, instead of getting bashful and stuttering. "Come on, kid."

Phoenix pulled Apollo to his feet. The young man sighed again. Phoenix ran a hand down Apollo's head and grimaced. "When was the last time you took a shower? No - don't answer that. Go take one. Now."

Apollo didn't argue. He trudged from his bedroom to the bathroom, his feet shuffling against the carpet. Once Phoenix heard the bathroom door click closed, he got to work. He tore the sheets from Apollo's bed and tossed them in the laundry basket at the corner of the room. He opened Apollo's closet to search for linens, grabbing the first pair available. They were worn, however, holes in the top sheet and both pillow cases. There was a new case, completely unopened, on the top shelf of the closet. Phoenix got them down, wondering how Apollo managed to get them up there in the first place. He shook out the sheets, carefully re-making the bed, throwing dirty laundry in the basket as he went.

The pause between the shower turning on and Apollo getting in seemed ridiculously long. Phoenix estimated he had ten to fifteen minutes to work on the apartment before Apollo got out. It wasn't much, but he had to do what he could.

He opened up the windows he could find, except for those in Apollo's bedroom. In the far back of Apollo's closet was a fold-up fan, which Phoenix got up and working. He rinsed the dishes that weren't too bad off and set them in the dishwasher, letting the crustier ones soak. He didn't notice that the shower had stopped until after he was done organizing Apollo's notes.

He turned to face the bathroom. Apollo was staring at him, blankly, waiting for orders.

Phoenix licked his lips. "Okay, now get dressed."

Apollo didn't nod or argue or give any indication that he'd heard Phoenix. He blinked once, then started his trudge back to the bedroom. Phoenix waited outside, leaning against the couch, for what he assumed was an appropriate amount of time. He headed back to the bedroom door and peeked in again - only to find that Apollo was dressing for work.

"No - No, no no. No, that's - that's not what I meant, Apollo."

Apollo turned, somber look worsening. "Are you firing me, sir?"

"What?" It occurred to Phoenix a little too late that Apollo wasn't making a joke. "No, I'm - who would I even get to work for me?" Apollo shrugged. "I just meant… Don't change into your work clothes. Find some - here, never mind." Phoenix found himself rifling through the other man's drawers, looking for sleep clothes. Apollo hadn't undressed himself entirely, only divulging himself of his socks, shoes, and shirt. His black trousers stayed. He was leaning against the closet with his eyes closed.

Phoenix contemplated helping the lawyer change, deciding instead to let it go. He wasn't quite ready for that level of commitment. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's lie down."

Apollo must have been confused. He was twenty-three and yet he was being babied, Phoenix guiding him to lay down on top of the covers of the bed his boss had done up for him. He was clearly embarrassed, his cheeks and ears turning pink. He didn't say anything though, not even as Phoenix laid down behind him and put an arm around his waist.

"I saw a note on the table. In your handwriting. It said…something about meds." Apollo didn't respond. "I'm assuming it didn't have to do with the case?" Again, he was met with silence. "What kind of meds are they, Apollo?"

"Allergies."

Phoenix didn't need the magatama or its sound effects of chains and boxes to know Apollo was lying to him. He sighed. This was going to take prying. "I can tell when you're lying to me, Apollo."

"What, do you have Trucy and I's special power now too?"

Phoenix chewed on the inside of his cheek. It felt more personal, now that all his friends were gone, off doing their own things. It was a piece of his past life. One that he missed, one that he wanted to keep hidden and private so no more of it could be taken away from him.

But if he wanted Apollo to trust him, then he'd have to trust Apollo. Phoenix sat up straight and dipped his hand into his pants pocket. "No," he responded. "But I do have this." Apollo didn't turn to look. Phoenix placed the magatama directly in the palm of his hand, and reached his arm over to let it sit in front of Apollo's face.

"Wha's that?"

"It's called a magatama -"

"Some sort of spiritualist thing, right? Your assistant…she used to wear one around her neck."

There was a pang in Phoenix's chest. It was guilt; he hadn't talked to Maya in a long time. "Yeah… yeah, she did."

There was another short silence, before Apollo spoke up again. "I didn't want to talk about it, or think about it. So I just…I decided to stop taking them. Medication for depression." A short, humorless laugh. "Do you have any idea what that's like, to feel like a freak? How many jokes there are, making fun of people like me?" Apollo was shivering slightly, but Phoenix didn't think it the right time to lay back down with him again. "It's bad enough I have to feel this way and think this way every day of my life. The way people talk about, you start thinking… that maybe they're right. Maybe you are… better off dead.

"So there's the pills, and the therapy, and the trying to work on a positive attitude and a positive outlook. But then you lose your job or your wallet and you can't pay for it all anymore. Even if you do, when do you have the time? Everything just piles up, it gets too overwhelming, and you break down. And you just get too embarrassed, too ashamed to take care of yourself or your house, you ignore all your friends and stop showing up for work until you either get evicted and have to move on, or you get that one sunny day that helps you get going. Until then, you're just stuck in quicksand. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it. Even if you have someone who cares, which I don't… it's not like they can do anything for you, except get annoyed and leave."

Phoenix watched the young man in front of him shake, trying to think of something to say or something to do to make him feel better. It was the worst Phoenix could remember feeling in a long time, because if nothing else in that diatribe was true, there was this: Phoenix couldn't do anything for Apollo. Not really. He could help him feel less overwhelmed by helping out around the house. But he couldn't make the pain go away, he couldn't afford to help Apollo with his medication (he could barely afford to buy food for himself and Trucy), and he was in no way a therapist.

Phoenix licked his lips, not sure how well this was going to work out. At the very least, he had to try. "You got one thing wrong, Apollo." There was more silence, this time questioning. "You're not alone. You do have someone who cares."


	2. Say Anything

He wanted to insist that Apollo come live with them. He wasn't sure how that would sound, though. It's not as though Apollo was family - he was barely even friend. It might just come off as a mentor sticking his nose in where it didn't belong. The last thing he needed was to lose what little trust Apollo had given him. All the same, he wasn't very comfortable with leaving Apollo on his own.

And with good reason, it would seem. Apollo came to work late by about half an hour. Phoenix was getting nervous, but he didn't want to upset Trucy. She could probably tell already. It might have been easy to hide it from anybody else, anybody who hadn't been living with him for seven hears and regularly helped him point out when people were bluffing.

She was almost ready to ask Phoenix about it when Apollo burst through, red in the face and panting, collar of his shirt drenched in sweat. "S- Sorry, Mr. Wright!"

"Polly!" Trucy gasped. "Did you run all the way here?"

"S- Sorta," Apollo averted his eyes, heaving as he set his briefcase down on his desk.

Trucy stood from the table and approached him. "Isn't it a bit hot to have your jacket on? C'mon -" Trucy tugged at the jacket despite Apollo's protests. She won the battle and whooped victoriously, laying Apollo's jacket over the back of the couch. The smile dissolved when she turned to see Apollo, his eyes growing wet, trying to push sleeves over bandaged arms.

Phoenix stopped the question before she could ask it. "Isn't it time for school, Trucy?" Trucy frowned, pouting, but ran to get her school stuff together anyway. She pused in front of the couch, looking back at the attorney. She bit her lip, and made her way over. She kissed Apollo on the cheek and ran from the apartment.

With Trucy gone, Phoenix adjusted the piles of magic materials to stand in front of Apollo. He knelt, and began to fix the younger's sleeves. Apollo was fidgeting, his legs bouncing. Phoenix rested a hand on Apollo's right knee, urging him to stop.

Apollo swallowed. "I didn't want you all to see - especially not Trucy. I don't - don't want to be a..." Apollo screwed up his face. "A bad influence."

Phoenix snorted lightly, and smiled up at him jokingly. "Don't worry about it, Apollo. She already lives with me, and I'm probably the worst influence ever!" Apollo's smile was weak and dismal, falling before it had even really begun. Phoenix frowned. "Oh, Polly, no, don't -"

Apollo wrenched his hands away, covering his face up. "I can't believe this, I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have even come, should have just stayed home and..." Apollo cut himself off, hands folded between his knees and eyes flickering nervously over everything that wasn't his boss.

"And...? And what, Apollo?" His words sounded steady and cold, but that wasn't at all how Phoenix was feeling. In fact, he felt pretty damn scared and unstable. He wasn't sure he was prepared for what Apollo might say in that gap. And what if it was more than just a gap? Plenty of people said those kinds of things - things like "kill me now", or gestures of shooting themselves with their fingers poised as guns. None of them meant it. But what if Apollo did? What was he supposed to do? Apollo didn't answer the question, shaking his head.

He wasn't sure if Apollo had truly calmed down, or if he was just hiding whatever anxiety or sadness he was feeling. Phoenix didn't know, and he wasn't taking any chances. With Apollo motionless in the chair and still pretty pliable, Phoenix finished rolling up the sleeves of his button-down. He ran his left thumb over Apollo's covered right wrist, trying to determine where to start unraveling so he didn't hurt his protege. Working carefully, he managed to loosen the wrap and work it off. He was surprised to find the arm relatively clean. Confusion set in. Why bandage up an unharmed body part?

To look even and cover up the damage of the other one. Phoenix shifted, tugging at Apollo's other arm, the hand still trapped between his thighs. The young man winced but relented. His hand was pink from circulation loss, and Phoenix found himself massaging it without a second thought. He tried to sense what Apollo was feeling. Was he tensing? Was this too much for him? Too much contact from someone he didn't know very well? Too much like affection? If that was the case, Apollo didn't say anything. Once the hand had returned to its normal color, Phoenix moved quickly to the wrist. The bandage on this arm was much tighter, probably owing to the fact that Apollo's right hand was his dominant hand. As he worked, Phoenix's knuckles knocked against the bracelet.

Phoenix moved the bracelet up Apollo's arms to better view the cuts. "What did you do?" he asked.

"Fell into a rose bush." The answer, even if the excuse itself had been believable, had been given far too quickly to be taken seriously. Phoenix glared at Apollo. The other was trying to hold a defiant look, but lost confidence at the look on Phoenix's face. "I was just - I got to thinking, you know, what Klavier keeps saying. About me, uhm, having a big forehead." Apollo's cheeks reddened in clear humiliation. "A - and maybe he's right? I mean, he is right, clearly, I -" Apollo grimaced, playing with the styled fringe on his head. "And I guess I..." His whole head turned in a concerted effort to avoid meeting Phoenix's eyes. Phoenix followed Apollo's throat as he swallowed, nervously rubbing his left arm with his free hand. "It sounds so stupid. It is really stupid. I guess I just -"

"Thought that if you could make your internal pain external, it would go away?" Apollo finally looked over at him, and nodded sheepishly. "That's not stupid, Apollo. A lot of people feel that way. And for some people, it seems to work. Not that I encourage that kind of thing - just know that you're not alone in that kind of thinking."

The redness had dissipated enough that Apollo almost looked back to normal. He even had half of a more convincing smile on his face. "I guess it is kind of dumb, huh? Getting all upset just 'cause I'm not good looking." Apollo's laugh was genuine, and and frightening in its sincerity.

Phoenix frowned. "Who says you're not good looking?"

Apollo shrugged. "Everyone. Well, everyone from high school. And middle school. And Klavier." Apollo smoothed his hair down. "I mean, my hair's kind of dumb looking, my forehead and ears are both pretty big, I'm probably the palest person I know - I don't really need anyone to tell mehow unattractive I am. And getting the brush from someone like Klavier, who'll fuck anything that moves - that's pretty, uhm, it's a low blow," Apollo admitted.

Phoenix raised his eyebrows. "You and Klavier?"

The color was starting to return to Apollo's face. Like he couldn't decide whether to be indignant or embarrassed all over again. "Yeah. I mean - Is, is that a problem?"

Phoenix shook his head, waving a hand. "Nah, I just wouldn't think he was your type."

Apollo squirmed. "Uhm. Why?"

Phoenix shrugged. "Well, he's pretty narcissistic. He likes to show off a lot. I guess he can be nice, when he wants to be. But I don't think he'd get your sarcasm or your jokes. It just wouldn't occur to me that you'd be into someone like him."

"Well, it doesn't matter," Apollo's frown look conflicted, only half in place. "He wasn't interested. I don't really care, I'm not anymore either." Apollo sighed, shuffling through the paper on his desk.

Phoenix stood and retreated to the bathroom. Apollo watched his back as he walked, wondering if this knowledge would change anything about their dynamic. Apollo scratched his head and tried to put it out of his mind. Whatever his boss was up to, it wouldn't take him long to return.

When Phoenix got to the bathroom, he had a little searching to do. Ever since he took Trucy in, he'd been trying to take care of himself. The less scrapes and bruises he got, the better. After all, it's not like he had Maya to fall back on anymore, or Edgeworth. He finally found what he was looking for, juggling it all in his arms as walked back out into the main room to confront his employee. Apollo seemed to have put the incident behind him, but Phoenix could tell that the man's focus wasn't really on the paperwork in front of him. His eyes were only barely skimming a document that he was, in fact, holding upside down. In all probability, it was a front to keep Phoenix from asking too many questions or getting too close.

And Phoenix ignored all of those boundaries. He sat on the edge of the desk, watching Apollo swallow from nerves at the closeness. Phoenix took the injured arm in his hand, wiping it down before applying antibiotic ointment and re-wrapping the wounds. "Next time someone asks, say they're scrapes from a fall. Rose bushes don't leave such neat lines, but it is possible to fall on the asphalt or cement and get a patterned bruise."

Apollo looked up, blinking. "How do you know?"

Phoenix smirked. "Just an observation. I've had my fair share of falls and attacks. I know the difference by now." Apollo nodded, not bothering to question the validity of Phoenix's statement. When he was done, he set the arm down so that Apollo's hand rested in his lap. "Apollo?"

"Mm?"

"About Klavier - ignore him. He's wrong, for one. And for another, what the hell would he know about attractiveness? Just because he's a rockstar, that doesn't make him the authority on sex appeal. I mean, have you seen his hair? What the hell is up with that?"

Apollo blushed. "Mr. Wright -"

He shook his head. "You can call me Phoenix. If I can call you Apollo, that is."

A startled blink. "Uhm. You already do?"

"Oh, good! I never know. I could have been calling you Aries or something." Apollo groaned as Phoenix laughed at himself. Apollo pulled his arm away, looking more hopefully at his paperwork. Phoenix slid off of the desk, smiling softly. He squeezed Apollo's shoulder and watched the younger man finally smile, softly but in earnest.

"Apollo?"

"Yeah Mr. - Phoenix?"

Phoenix cut back the No Mr. just Phoenix that immediately came to mind. "I meant it."

"Meant what?"

"Everything." Apollo looked up at him. His eyes looked so wide and bright despite their dark color. "Klavier doesn't deserve you."

He looked embarrassed, but for an entirely different reason now. "Thanks, Phoenix."

He had to act quickly, before he lost his nerve - which he was very like to do, given that he hadn't been in familiar territory for so long. He'd thought having another lawyer around would make him feel more at home, that he'd get back into the routine. He hadn't been counting on Apollo being the way he was, on learning so much or feeling so out of place and helpless. Apollo was the new kid, and being the fish out of proverbial water was his job. And still Phoenix found himself swallowing his own uncertainty, his hand on the back of Apollo's neck to lean forward and kiss the kid on the forehead.


	3. Far From Here

Apollo was trapped in his head again. He'd been staring off into space for the past five minutes, after locking himself in the bathroom. He wondered if Trucy was standing on the other side of the door, waiting for him to come up. He'd stood up abruptly, startling her. She asked if everything was okay, but he didn't answer. He slammed the door behind him, and that was the end of it.

It had always been difficult for Apollo, being around people when one of these...episodes started up. He'd found them incredibly embarrassing in sixth grade, when they first started happening to him. He couldn't describe what triggered it, because it wasn't always the same thing and in the aftermath it all seemed so hazy; but someone would say something or something would happen and all of a sudden it would be feel to Apollo like he'd been turned off. Things wouldn't seem quite as loud or colorful or clear-cut. He'd stare off, thinking of nothing (or if he was thinking of something, he could never remember what it was after the fact). And then inevitably, somebody would reel him back in, and the burst back to life would be too overwhelming, and he couldn't stand the sound. The push back this time was simply Trucy turning a page in her book. He was going to feel really stupid, once he snapped out of it.

* * *

His suspicions about Trucy had been right. The teen was sitting with her back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her. She hadn't gotten a good look at Apollo in a few weeks, he'd been so skittish around her. She knew she shouldn't take it to heart, but she couldn't help feeling a little disgruntled when Apollo would look straight at her daddy but ignore her. She was the one who spent the most time with him, after all! The bratty, childlike part of her that still remained insisted that she deserved to know what was going on. The rational, adult part told her not to pry. If it was important, Apollo would tell her. All the same, she didn't want him to think she didn't notice or didn't care.

Being an assistant was turning out to be much more difficult than she'd anticipated. She really should write to Maya about this.

Trucy looked up as her father opened the door, bag of groceries in one hand. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Working on a new trick with Polly?" he asked.

Trucy shook her head. She wasn't sure how much she should tell him, but he seemed to know Apollo better than she did. And wouldn't it be better to err on the side of caution? What if Polly was injured? "Apollo looked himself in the bathroom about five minutes ago." She chewed on her lip, before adding, "I don't know, I just wanted to check that nothing was wrong."

Her father frowned, but continued into the kitchen to set the groceries down. He didn't say anything about Apollo, or if this behavior was normal for guys. Trucy rolled her shoulders to stretch and stood. Daddy was home now, so she could probably leave it all to him. Male bonding was a kind of magic of its own that she had no authority over.

Almost as soon as she stood, the door to the bathroom opened. Apollo looked a little more with it, his eyes almost immediately focusing on Trucy and smiling sheepishly at her. She had no idea how to respond to this. Was it code or something? She smiled, trying to best to hide her uneasiness, and retreated to her spot on the couch. Apollo, noticing the discarded hat, headed into the kitchen.

"You told me to tell you if it was happening again?" Internally, he kicked himself. Should've started off more normally. You know, said hello, or something? Oh god, look at his shoulders tensing. Way to go, Justice.

Phoenix turned to face Apollo. It was a little funny, just how obvious the thoughts going through the young man's head were. His face was far too expressive - they'd have to fix that, teach him how to bluff before his next court date. He nodded to the younger, before shifting his head to shout through the open door. "Hey, Trucy?" she poked her head in. "Don't you have a show at the Wonder Bar tonight?"

She fidgeted. "Well, you know, that case -"

Phoenix shook his head. "Don't worry about. I'll help Apollo out with it. I haven't actually done much mentoring, now, have I?" Apollo was startled to have the man's full gaze on him. It wasn't an anxious one, or one drained of energy. Those he seemed to save specifically for their deeper conversations and such, and kept away from arenas where his daughter could see them. His eyes had a shine to them, something like mischief or determination. If Apollo had to guess, he'd say that for Phoenix Wright, the two were the same thing.

"Yeah, no, not really," he agreed.

Trucy crossed her arms. "But daddy, you promised to come to my next show! And Apollo needs help -"

"So I'll come to your next show, okay? I promise."

Trucy rolled her eyes. "You say that every time, daddy."

"And I always mean to. Things just get so busy, you know that." The two exchanged a series of passive-aggressive puppydog pouts. Trucy's was powerful, but her father still one. Sighing in exasperation, she left to gather her things.

Apollo found himself fidgeting now, cracking his knuckles in uncertainty. "You don't have to stay with me -"

"I'm well aware of my legal rights, Apollo," Phoenix double-checked to make sure Trucy was out of earshot before adding, "I didn't actually promise to go to this show. That's just her code for 'I know something is going on and I want in.' She's just being nosy."

"Oh," Apollo blushed. "I don't think - I don't want to tell her."

"You don't have to," he said quietly. "It's none of her business."

Trucy re-emerged from her room, cape and top hat in place. She carried a cane in her hand and a bag over her shoulder. Apollo found himself surprised she didn't just use the magic panties as a carry-all. "Well, I'm off," she said, eyeing her father suspiciously.

"Alright, have a good show, sweetheart." Phoenix gave her a quick hug.

She waved at Apollo. He waved back, thinking the gesture a little strange. They were in the same room, for God's sake, and she'd kissed him on the cheek once before. "Break a leg," he offered. Trucy nodded and gave an odd salute before marching out.

Phoenix waited until he heard the click of the door to let his guard down. "Let me just finish putting these away -" without thinking, he leaned over Apollo to reach the bag of groceries on the table. He was close enough that they touched in some places. Apollo felt himself blushing, and for a split second wondered if the older man was going to kiss him again. He hated himself for the thought, and snapped the rubber band around his wrist. Phoenix caught sight of the motion, heard the slap of the material against Apollo's skin, and frowned at him. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Wait, sorry, stupid question. Uh, what's the rubber band for?"

Apollo shrugged. He observed the band in question in an effort to avoid eye contact. "It's this sort of cognitive behavior treatment. Whenever you have a bad thought or something, you just snap the band to make it go away."

"Skinner, right? Like shock therapy. You're supposed to associate the thought with pain, and so you'll stop thinking about it?" Apollo nodded. There was a brief pause in the conversation as Phoenix set the box in his hands down on the farthest part of the counter. He picked at a spot of dirt, and it occurred to Apollo that maybe Phoenix wasn't always as smooth and put together as he liked to let on. "Are you sure that's really a good idea, all things considered? I mean, wouldn't the self-abuse have the same effect if it worked?"

Apollo looked down. The scars from a few weeks ago were healing pretty well, although he was aware they might never fade away. It hadn't occurred to him before that maybe that was another reason some people hurt themselves, and he felt stupid for even bothering with the band. "Oh. I guess -" He removed the small thing from his wrist, and Phoenix pocketed it. Now he was just feeling worse, but with no way to counteract it.

Phoenix moved to sit at the table, and indicated that Apollo should do the same. He did, pulling out a chair on the other end. Phoenix was sorely tempted to roll his eyes at the kid, but he stopped. He might not have had any qualms about sitting close up to Apollo, but if Apollo wasn't in the mood then he had no right to push it. He licked his lips, and dove straight into the question of the hour. "You said it started happening again, the - displacement? Did you manage to figure out what triggered it?"

"No," Apollo curled in upon himself. "I'm sorry -"

"Hey, shh, no, don't apologize." Phoenix reached his hand out, leaving it on the table between them. It managed to get Apollo's attention, and he was staring at it now. "I'm not mad, just curious. So, uh," it felt weird to have his hand out there, to not be able to rub the back of his head with it. He had to work with his non-dominant hand now, but his own comfort wasn't his top priority. "What exactly happened?" Apollo frowned. "To the best of your ability, that is." Apollo closed his eyes, trying to think.

"It's like it's all...foggy. I was... going over... client records... I think..." His face was scrunched, agitated by the lack of clarity. "Shit," he hissed. "I should be able to do this! It just happened! Why is it all gone now?"

There wasn't any warning, but Phoenix felt he should have seen it coming anyway. Apollo wasn't violent, he didn't lash out, so even with the frustrated growl that had set him off a bit, Apollo's next move was something of a shock. His hands, which had been resting his lap only a moment before, were now slapping his forehead and tugging at his hair. Phoenix knocked his chair over in his rush to take a hold of Apollo's wrists and keep the man from knocking himself out. "Apollo, stop." His voice sounded loud, even to himself. He wanted to be calm and gentle, but he wasn't a therapist and he couldn't afford the risk that patience allowed.

He froze at his own thought. At the risk of sounding callous, even to himself - when had he come to care about Apollo so much?

Maybe it didn't really matter when or why. He could have his own existential crisis later.

"I'm sorry, Phoenix. I tried -"

"I know. It's not important, I don't think. I was just wondering, you know." Apollo nodded numbly. "You haven't... hurt yourself again, have you?"

Apollo looked a little embarrassed. "What, you mean like, today? No, of course not, I was just -"

"Apollo. Stop talking." He swallowed. "I didn't mean it like that. Just - don't worry about it, okay? I'm not gonna take you to a psych ward or anything. You're a grown man. If you say you haven't been hurting yourself, I trust you."

Apollo bit his thumb. It seemed like an odd action to Phoenix, especially as he continued applying pressure and the knuckle began to turn white. The last time he'd seen someone bite their thumb, it had been in sexual arousal. But Phoenix was fairly certain Apollo wasn't getting off on this.

Apollo jerked suddenly, pushing Phoenix away and beginning to pace the floor. Phoenix stood as well and stuck his hands in his pockets in a failed attempt to appear nonchalant. "Polly?" Apollo seemed to make a decision with himself. He glanced quickly at his boss before his eyes flickered away, nervousness buzzing around his entire person like a swarm. He let his thumb out of his mouth and reached down to unbuckle his pants.

"Uh." It was all Phoenix could think to say. It was all Phoenix could to think to think. This just came so far out of left-field that he didn't even see it in his peripherals. Even if this was what he wanted (and he wasn't sure he did), this was not the time or the place. But Apollo ignored his stuttering, letting his trousers drop enough so that his thighs were exposed. He wasn't looking at Phoenix, and Phoenix wasn't sure if it was okay to look at him or not. Everything about this was so very, very wrong. Phoenix took a deep breath before looking - it couldn't hurt, could it? - and suddenly understood exactly what it was Apollo wanted to show him. "Oh." Apollo's thighs were covered in cuts. Long, thin scrapes that looked as though they hadn't bled yet. Phoenix sat down. Apollo moved to do the same, holding his pants awkwardly so he could walk back to his chair.

He must have used scissors. "I - I wasn't sure - I mean, I know you said I could call you, but it was late, and it was just, it was so stupid, it was such a dumb thing to get upset about, I didn't want to bother you." Apollo folded his hands together , resting them on his knees to avoid the cuts on his thighs.

Phoenix wanted to sigh. He wanted to rub his face with his hands and run his hands through his hair. He wanted to be an exasperated parent. It would have been easy for him, but he didn't think it was what Apollo really needed. Instead, he moved closer, prying Apollo's hands apart and holding them. "I'm sorry," he said, "That you feel you have to do this to yourself." Apollo squirmed. Now that he was closer, both literally and figuratively, Phoenix could see that Apollo wasn't so much uncomfortable with affection - for lack of a better word - as he was unused to it. "But Apollo, it's never too late. I told you that you could call me at any time, and I meant it. I'd rather wake up at three in the morning than... than have you do this."

"But it was stupid -"

"I don't think so, Apollo. I don't think you would have done something like this-" he indicated the younger man's legs "over something trivial. Give yourself more credit."

He sighed. "Still, I don't want to bother you -"

"You won't bother me."

Another awkward silence as Apollo learned to breathe normally again. Then softly, he asked, "Never?"

"Never."

* * *

He still wasn't entirely sure how he managed to get Apollo to agree to spend the night, let alone to take Phoenix's bed in the other room. When Trucy got back from her show, her father was dozing off on the couch, Apollo's jacket draped over him like a blanket. Trucy thought it was a funny sight, but it wasn't telltale; her father often fell asleep on the couch waiting for her to get back from a show on the nights he couldn't go with her, and Apollo had left his jacket at the office since the day Trucy wrangled it off of him. She decided not to wake her daddy - not because it would have been difficult, but because his current pose would have made for a cute picture. She just needed to grab her camera from the room they shared -

Someone was in her father's bed. A slew of irrational thoughts blew through Trucy's head all at once, but she managed to keep them tapped down. The likelihood that this was another panty thief was very slim, as was the idea that someone broke in just to sleep in her dad's bed. And in his clothes, no less. Wait a minute, she recognized that hair...

"Daddy?" Phoenix sat up, eyes wide and alarmed until he saw the source of the noise. He relaxed a little, turning to sit slouched with his back against the cushions. "Daddy, why is Polly in your clothes, in your bed?"

He frowned, lop-sided. "Apollo's going to be staying with us for a while. Just until he feels better, okay? He's been feeling kind of sick and -"

"I'm not a child, you know," she said gently. "I think I know what's going on." Phoenix's frown evened out. "Shouldn't we - shouldn't we take him to a specialist?"

Phoenix sighed. "He's a grown man, Truce. If he wants to seek outside help, then he will. And we can help him, if that's what he wants, but we can't force him."

"Aren't we kind of forcing him now? Forcing him to let us help him?"

He smiled. "I am, you aren't."

"Technicality."

"Look, it's... different. There's only so much it's acceptable to do, as an employer and as a friend. It's a sensitive subject and you gotta take it slowly. But for the time being, Trucy, please don't say anything to him. Not until he's ready to tell you, if he ever is."

"And if he never is?"

"Then you don't say anything at all."

She frowned. "What if he hurts himself again? What if it gets worse? Do I just pretend like nothing's wrong?"

"Of course not," he was getting frustrated now. "I just mean, don't go pushing it out of the blue. If something's obvious, it's obvious. But don't go using your power on him, he's your brother." Phoenix had to stop himself, covering his mouth with his hand and hoping against hope that Trucy hadn't caught that slip.

But the odds were, of course, not in his favor. "Daddy? He's - he's my... my what?"


	4. Push

Phoenix finds himself pacing in front of his adopted daughter and - whatever the hell Apollo is to him now. It's been a couple weeks since he accidentally told Trucy about her relation to Apollo. He made her swear to keep it a secret for the time being. Whatever had been setting Apollo off so much lately came first in terms of priorities and concerns. Anything could and would have to wait. Apollo had practically moved in with them, trading places with Phoenix every so often so far as who got the bed and who had the sofa. Trucy had once suggested they just share the bed, because it's not like the other had cooties, but that option had been met with vehement refusal on all parts. Nothing against one another - that bed was too damn small to share.

The washer had been broken in recent days. Apollo had been trying to do laundry on one of his better days, and found himself covered in water and suds. Phoenix had been expecting something of a breakdown. Not because Apollo was fragile or somehow emotionally attached to the washing machine, but because he knew that even the smallest of things could bring Apollo down quickly. He went to stand by Apollo, a hand on the shorter man's shoulder, and was caught off guard when Apollo started laughing of all things. He smiled in return, feeling his heartbeat return to normal. The landlord had finally helped Phoenix set up an appointment with a fixer, and since the day was already so boring (no clients, no tournaments, no shows), the three decided to set up a game of Scrabble while they waited for the repairman (or woman, as Trucy reveled in remind them) to show up. Apollo was very good at the game, especially when it came to adding letters to pre-formed words.

In retrospect, he could only blame himself on so many levels that he was now in this predicament. He should have never agreed to keep it a secret from these two in the first place. And then, of course, he should have never let it slip to Trucy. But he never could follow plans or directions quite the way he was supposed to, and despite the proclaimed illegitimacy of the word Phoenix insisted on playing 'bling.' To which Apollo, of course, added 'si.'

Phoenix couldn't find it in him to be mad, or even frustrated. Not when Apollo looked so damn proud of himself, not when he looked so back to normal despite the oversized tee of Phoenix's he was wearing, courtesy of there being nothing else clean. He was kind of adorable. Phoenix didn't want to break his spirit.

Trucy, on the other hand... "That reminds me," she started, looking over at Phoenix. He looked back at his daughter, eyes silently pleading to put it off just a little longer. But she was having none of it. "Isn't there something you wanted to tell us, daddy?"

Apollo tilted his head. His bangs were half wilted from the humidity, and it was odd to Phoenix that Apollo even bothered putting them up at all. He wanted to commit this image to memory. He couldn't help but think that this was it; once Apollo knew that Phoenix had been lying to him for all of this time, had been keeping this information from him, he was going to be gone. He was going to be back to despising Phoenix, back to thinking him a fraud and a liar. Which I guess I am, Phoenix thought to himself. Nonetheless, he knew he couldn't put this off much longer, especially not with Trucy looking ready to burst from excitement. At least someone would get some happiness out of this.

They left their mugs of coffee and Scrabble letters littered on the table when Phoenix ushered them from the kitchen to the living room. Apollo was looking at Trucy with that worried frown he'd only just got rid of. And so this was how Phoenix Wright found himself pacing in front of two young adults, as if they were disapproving parents and he a pregnant teenager.

There was no easy way to say this. "Apollo, you and Trucy are related." Apollo blinked slowly. He turned to Trucy, already gazing at him. She smiled fondly. Apollo looked back up at Phoenix. "You're siblings. Or, more precisely, half-siblings. You have the same mother, but different fathers."

Apollo's only response was to blink again. "Uh... okay. Any particular reason you're just divulging us with this information now?"

Phoenix blinks, running a hand through his hair. They're both taking this awfully well. "You see -"

"He told me," Trucy interrupts. Way to throw me under the bus there, Truce . "Accidentally," she adds, with a guilty shrug to her father. Apollo looks between the two of them, a shaky smile forming on his lips. They open to reveal teeth, and for once Apollo seems genuinely happy. He lifts himself from the couch and swings his arms around Phoenix's neck in a loose hug. Phoenix is somewhat shocked - Apollo hasn't tried before to touch him. Not that he minds insomuch as he wonders if he should be worried. He wraps his arms loosely around Apollo's waist and tries not to notice how he smells like bodywash and warm paper and clean sweat, natural and healthy. Like maybe they're out of the ballpark and he doesn't have to worry about this kid anymore, even though he knows he will.

Apollo pulls back and smiles widely. Phoenix thinks for a minute that he might very well cry. "I have a family," Apollo emphasizes as if they're not really grasping the importance. And maybe they're not.

* * *

Things actually seem to be going well. The clients aren't as steady as they'd all like, but it's enough to pay for food and that's always a good sign. Apollo hangs around a lot more than he has done in the past, which certainly brightens Trucy's day and makes Phoenix feel less anxious. Apollo is bright and snarky and in good spirits, showing up on time and staying over when Trucy insists it's too late for him to go home with very little protest on Apollo's part.

And that's how things are going, normal, when the darkness comes back in from out of nowhere. Phoenix can feel it as soon as he enters the apartment. The air is thick, permeated with heaviness and Apollo is laying on his side on the couch with his hands over his stomach and a pout on his face. If it were anyone else, Phoenix might have made a joke. And if he was a cruel as some people took him for, he would have said Apollo's depression was cramping his childish and carefree style. Instead, he sat himself down in Apollo's line of sight as the young man continued to stare off into space.

"What's up, Apollo?"

"Huh?" his eyes looked kind of glassy and odd when he looked up at Phoenix. "Oh, uh... hey." Phoenix frowned. Apollo mimicked. "I was just - hm -" Apollo pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking around the room confused.

"Apollo?"

"Sorry, I just -" he shook his head, licked his lips. "I - I got more medicine, and I guess it finally kicked in, or something. I just sort of got to feeling lightheaded and nauseated. I know that's part of the side effects but -" He tried to stand and wobbled. Phoenix stood, nearly knocking their heads together. He placed a hand on Apollo's waist to steady him and watched the younger man's cheeks color. Phoenix smirked, head tilting. "Come on, let's go back in the bedroom."

"What?" Apollo's response was way too quick to be covered as simple confusion. Apollo's entire face was flushed now, and Phoenix laughed.

"Look, if your meds are making you drowsy, you should take it easy." He moved his hand from Apollo's hip to placing an arm around his shoulder. He felt Apollo's shoulders readjust under the new weight, declining slightly. "C'mon."

They had spare sheets in the closet for times when this was necessary. It wasn't as though Apollo was incapable of taking care of himself, as he was fond of reminding them in the moments when he was feeling so bold. But Phoenix was feeling a bit lazy, and it wasn't as though the sheets were actually dirty. He made a show of pulling the covers back so Apollo could climb under, even patting his head and tucking the kid in. Apollo rolled his eyes as the flippant gesture.

"Hey, Ph - Phoenix," he started. Phoenix looked back, one hand on the semi-open door. He raised an eyebrow in question. "Could you - do you think you could -" he was playing with the fray on the afghan Trucy had made to top the bed and avoiding Phoenix's gaze. Phoenix had a feeling he knew where this conversation is going. "Could you stay?" he asked.

Phoenix didn't nod or say yes, only closing the door and toeing his shoes off. He crawled up the bed so his back was against the wall. It felt weird, sitting like this and feeling the heat from Apollo's back seep in through his trouser leg. Looking at Apollo from this angle felt strange, his back too stiff to be comfortable. Phoenix slouched down until he was laying, and rolled onto his side. He let one arm drift over Apollo's stomach, right toes nudging the kid's calf. "Is this what you meant?" he asked softly.

Apollo nodded, and he could practically him heating up again. Before Apollo could start stuttering and backing out, he squeezed him a bit and muttered, "Just don't drool on me, okay kid?"


	5. Shake Tramp

It comes out of nowhere, as far as Phoenix is concerned. Apollo's doing fine one day, and then suddenly he's in this horrible manic mood Phoenix didn't really think him capable of. Phoenix had let his guard down somewhere along the line, thinking any sort of danger was out of the line. Apollo was a little late, but he wasn't altogether worried. Apollo overslept sometimes, a combination of insomnia from the night before and his medication making him drowsy. He managed to swallow the drumming in his chest on his way to the kid's apartment. It was probably, very likely, nothing. But there was no harm in checking.

He'd been expecting it to be just another low day on Apollo's part. That the weather got him down, or maybe he forgot to take his meds the night before or even just that the stress was too much to deal with and he opted to lay in bed and _not_ cry instead. So Phoenix is more than just a little bit surprised when he enters Apollo's apartment and finds the young man at his small kitchen table, hands pressed together in a prayer position with his chin on his thumbs. He's fully dressed, but not freshly. Clearly he's been up and at it for a while. So what's with the skipping?

"Playing hookie today, are we?" Phoenix smirks, trying to keep his tone light.

Apollo looks up, not even surprised to see his boss there. He folds his fingers across the back of his hands and looks away. "Sorry," he says.

"Lost track of the time?" Phoenix sits down across from him, taking the hat from his head and placing his hands back in his pockets. "It's okay. We haven't exactly had a line of clients out the door or anything." Apollo's frowning out at whatever point on the wall he's staring at. "We probably should get going, though. I didn't lock up before I left, and Trucy's gone out to -"

"I'm not coming in, Mr. Wright." Apollo's still not looking at him, not directly. Something in Phoenix's stomach feels off, like something in him is falling over and he finds the worry coming back and racing up to his chest. Apollo hasn't been so formal in private since Phoenix told the younger man to use his first name.

"Apollo?"

"I just need to be alone for a while, okay?"

It comes out as a whisper. Not broken, but tired and small all the same. And Phoenix is... _hurt_. Hurt that Apollo doesn't trust him enough to talk to him about what's going on. Hurt that Apollo won't even look at him now. It's like he's being lied to somehow, even though the magatama in his pocket isn't reacting. He licks his lips and stands, his back turned before he even realizes that he hasn't said goodbye. He turns back to say something, but the words won't leave his mouth. Not when Apollo still isn't looking up, has ignored him through this entire five minutes. He can't even call them a waste, although he cruelly wants to think so. He just knows that in doing so, he'd be calling Apollo a waste, and he's not angry enough for that. All he is, is confused. Hurt and confused. So he doesn't say the things he wants to say and tell Apollo to be careful, not to do anything rash, to feel better. He just leaves, and every footstep hurts a little more because Apollo isn't telling him to come back.

* * *

It's about a week before Phoenix sees Apollo again. He's still got some connections at the hospital, all of whom have been keeping him updated so that he knows Apollo hasn't been rushed there, dead or otherwise injured. He wishes he could tell Apollo what to do, wishes he could do anything to make him come back. Instead he finds himself biting his tongue to keep from screaming. He has to remind himself that Apollo isn't a child, let alone his child. He's a fully grown man who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Apollo shows up a little worse for the wear on a Thursday. He hasn't gelled his hair, so it's all falling in his face. His shirt's a little wrinkled, his shoes are a little scruffed, but he looks unharmed. Trucy runs right to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He manages to fake a smile for her, and they get to talking about her latest show, her newest trick, and whether or not it would be okay for her to use any of it in court. Phoenix keeps his distance, pretending to take a nap on the couch. Apollo doesn't call him out on it until they're alone.

"Why didn't you fire me?" is the first thing he says.

Phoenix doesn't bother opening his eyes. He can't read Apollo's tone and he's not sure he wants to find out his feelings from the look on his face. So he shrugs, and says "You were just off for a week. No big deal."

"It was a week and a half," Apollo corrects.

Phoenix glares from his position on the couch. "What are you being so particular about anyway? Did you want me to fire you?"

"Yes." The honesty startles him into sitting up, one knee bent with the other on the floor. Apollo still isn't looking at him, concentrating on the documents at the desk that he's currently sorting through.

"Do you mind telling me what's going on?" Phoenix isn't upset. He's pissed. _You can't just ignore me for a week, walk back in and expect -_

Apollo sighs and it cuts off his thoughts. "It's going to be uncomfortably, and probably very boring for you. Are you sure you want to know?"

_So there is a reason._ "Of course, Apollo."

Apollo looks up at him and his eyes seem agitated, red around the edges like he'd been crying a lot. But there were also shadows, emphasizing the lines and crinkles built up from squinting and glaring. Even though his hair is down and in his face, Apollo still looks older than he actually is. "All right," he says. "Sit down." Phoenix shouldn't take it well that his employee is telling him what to do in his own office, but he doesn't fight it. Apollo waits until he's seated to turn to him more fully, attention completely drawn away from the files and the desk. "I don't know how else to do this, so I might as well just say it and get it over with." _Oh, no_. Phoenix doesn't think he's ready for this, doesn't know that he'll ever really be ready for this. "I like you," Apollo says. "I don't see the point in trying to hide it. It's not like I'm any good at it, anyway." Phoenix has his mouth open, trying to think of something to say. In a way, Apollo saves him by cutting him off. "No, please, for the love of god, don't say anything. I don't expect anything, okay? I just sort of felt like I had to get it off my chest because it's been driving me a little crazy recently, and maybe if I say it it'll just go the hell away and I won't have to worry about it anymore."

Phoenix is licking his lips again. In part, he just doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know if he should be flattered or upset about it. So instead, he says the first thing that comes to mind. Which is, of course, "What?"

Apollo sighs - well, more of a huff - and repeats himself. "I like you. And not in a platonic way. I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. And I thought maybe they'd just go away on their own, but they haven't. And I just thought I should tell you because I know what these feelings do to me, what they turn me into. And I don't like the person I become. So just to warn you - I probably won't be acting like myself." Phoenix still doesn't know what to say, staring sort of blank-faced at Apollo.

Apollo doesn't leave much of an open space for thought or discussion. He gathers his documents, storing them away in his briefcase. "I'm heading down to the detention center, see if I can't get my client to talk to me a bit."

At the last minute, Phoenix thinks he sees something and grabs Apollo's wrist. He's right - Apollo's arm is littered with little scratches, red lines scattered up and down his skin. "Apollo, what is this?"

Apollo pulls his arm away. "It's nothing, okay? Don't worry about it. It's just my way of dealing with things. I'll be alright." And Phoenix doesn't know what to say to that, or what to think of it, and so he lets Apollo leave and watches him retreat and wonders if he should have said or done something different.


End file.
